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Again, he didn’t wait for my answer. Instead, he slipped off his shoes, stood up on the couch, and swung one leg over to the other side of me. Then, he settled in behind me, enveloping me between his parted thighs.
I was about to object, when his fingers pressed into my neck. God, that feels good. Two minutes won’t hurt.
Dex wasn’t lying; he could definitely give a mean massage. His thumbs rubbed up and down either side of my spine, and he applied firm pressure, kneading a circular motion to relieve the tension in my muscles. Loosening up, my head dropped until my chin was practically resting on my chest. I lost track of time as he quietly rubbed and pressed in all the right places. At one point, he guided my head to the left side and focused on an area on the right at the top of my shoulder blade. A little mewl escaped my lips before I could catch it. After that, even though my neck was relaxed, I started to feel other things tensing up. Dex was getting aroused, and since I was sitting between his legs, I could literally feel his erection swelling up against my ass. God it feels so good.
A large part of me wanted to enjoy it, to relish the feel of his fingers pressing into my achy neck muscles and his firm cock nudging at my ass cheeks as it grew. But then I remembered the other time I felt Dex up against my ass. Only it wasn’t Dex…it was Jay. The night he’d showed up at my place unannounced, and I practically dry humped him. He’d spent an hour online with me as Dex and then must have raced over to my apartment to spend the next half hour as Jay. He didn’t even require a break between his lies. Realizing that was like having a bucket of cold water thrown over me.
I abruptly stood. “I should go.”
Dex stood with me. “I’m sorry. Don’t go. I tried everything. Even thinking about the time I walked in on my grandmother having sex with my grandfather, but not even that calamity could stop my body from reacting to having you near me. I didn’t ask you to stay to get physical with you. I wasn’t going to try to seduce you.”
Oddly, I believed him. “Why did you ask me to stay then, Dex?”
“I wanted to make sure you were feeling alright from the accident this morning. But I also wanted to see if I could convince you to go on a date with me. Can we start over? I know I fucked up royally—just give me the chance to show you I’m a man you can trust.”
That was half of the problem. Trust was an issue to begin with for me. I knew I had some daddy issues that were at the root of many of my doubts. But I also knew that it was nearly impossible to be around Dex without something physical happening between us. And being physical with him before I was able to forgive him and truly trust him again, would be a big mistake.
“I need some time, Dex.”
“How much time?”
“I don’t know.”
He looked panicked. “Can we at least continue to chat in the evenings?”
“That’s not a good idea.”
“Bianca…what can I do?”
I actually felt bad for him. Reaching out, I touched his cheek. “Give me time. At least a few weeks.”
He searched my eyes. Finding I was serious, his shoulders slumped. “Fine.”
I pushed up on my tippy toes and kissed him on the cheek. “Take care of yourself, Dex.”“Damn you, Clement.”
Sometimes when I got frustrated about the Bianca situation, I spent my time watching YouTube videos of my whittling nemesis. The kid could whittle anything with precision without getting a single cut on his hands. It pissed me off, yet invigorated me at the same time.
Do better, Dex.
I needed to step up my game.
“Nice haircut, by the way,” I spoke to the computer screen, referring to his straight blond hair that was exactly the same length all the way around like a bowl.
I shouldn’t have been torturing myself like this, but lately, it seemed harder and harder to sanely occupy my time outside of work. Bianca didn’t want to resume our evening chats or see me at all for a few weeks. That basically meant several days of Dexter going slowly insane and nearly blind from jerking himself off.
I vowed to use these days wisely. Just because she didn’t want to see me, didn’t mean I couldn’t let her know I was thinking about her. I liked to refer to this period of time as Operation Get Bianca Back.
Step one: learn to actually whittle so you can make her romantic wooden things. All the wooden things! I bet if I put my mind to it, I could whittle a goat that might be half as good as the one I bought at the Brooklyn flea market.
